


Carry On My Wayward Son

by WakingNightmares



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Character Death, Dark, Explicit Language, Gen, Graphic discussion of torture, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mentions of Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, ScottMcCallWeek, Violence, mention of suicide, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakingNightmares/pseuds/WakingNightmares
Summary: The fateful events at Beacon Hills sparked a war, one that wasn’t contained within Beacon Hills. Six years after the events with Gerard, it’s become a full scale war between humans and the werewolves.And after six years… the humans have -for all intents and purposes -won. Few werewolves remain, and those that survived the bloodbath are on the run. Lurking in the shadows, sleeping in caves, hiding in sewers, just trying to keep their heads down. Trying to make it another day.Submission for Scott McCall Appreciation Week: Road Ahead





	Carry On My Wayward Son

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so seriously folks, this is a dark, post-cannon fic; there are no happy endings, it's brutal, violent, and depressing the whole way through. My submission for the 'Road Ahead' category.

Scott McCall waded through the knee-deep water, barely noticing the stench anymore as he made his way further into the sewers. He knew his route by heart, and that fact brought a frown to his face. It’d be time to move on again -the sooner the better. They’d been there too long, almost a month, and no matter how tired they all were, staying in one place for any significant amount of time was dangerous.

 

With a sigh, he turned left, and pulled himself out of the muck and grime, moving towards the distant sound of voices. As he rounded another corner, he spotted Mason and Corey tucked into one corner, Mason gently prodding Corey to eat. Theo was sitting by the small kerosene heater, hands held towards it for warmth, a bored look on his face.

 

Malia and Jackson, however, were the cause of the raised voices… as usual. The two of them were so wrapped up in whatever disagreement they were having that they didn’t even notice Scott, and he ignored them in return as he went over, and knelt next to Theo.

 

“How’d it go?”

 

Theo scoffed, pointing with his chin towards the coyote and kanima. “About that well. We didn’t get much. Most of it went to Corey. How about you? Any luck?”

 

Scott shook his head, settling in on the mounds of blankets laid out. “No. If there was a pack here… They either moved on, or they’re all dead. I couldn’t even catch a scent,” He admitted slowly.

 

Theo shrugged. “Is what it is. Guess we’ll be moving on soon.”

 

“Are you fucking stupid?! Seriously, what the  _ hell  _ is wrong with you?!” Jackson barked, shoving Malia with both hands.

 

Malia, for her part, responded with flashing eyes, and extended claws, bracing herself to leap at the kanima.

 

“Hey!” Scott snapped, letting some of his Alpha power seep into his words. “Are you two  _ trying  _ to bring every hunter in the state here? You wanna bitch at each other, I don’t care, but do it quietly, for the love of Christ!”

 

The small area went quiet for a few seconds, before Corey whimpered quietly. Scott turned towards him with a guilty look, to see Mason’s rage filled eyes lock with his own. With a grunt, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones, Scott pulled himself up, and walked over, keeping both his hands outstretched as he knelt a few feet away from the pair.

 

Corey pulled back, tucking himself tighter into the corner, and Scott felt the reaction like a knife in his soul. But he kept his face carefully neutral.

 

“It’s alright, Corey. Nobody’s mad at you, okay? Everything’s fine,” He said softly. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep, huh?” Again, he put some of his power into his words -softer, gentler than he had with Malia and Jackson, just enough to -hopefully- reach through the daze.

 

It seemed to work; Corey nodded shakily, curling up around Mason’s legs. After a few minutes, his eyes fluttered closed, and stayed closed.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Mason’s voice was rough, and Scott didn’t want to think on ‘why’ too hard. So he simply nodded, and stood. As soon as he’d turned, he spotted Malia and Jackson both staring at him. Malia, at least, looked slightly guilty, squirming under Scott’s angry glare. Jackson, however, simply returned his glare with one of his own.

 

“Are you two serious right now?” Scott hissed, striding closer until he was in both of their faces. When Malia opened her mouth to speak, Scott cut her off. “I don’t  _ care  _ what happened out there; it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if you two want to kill each other, just go do it somewhere else, or do it silently.”

 

With that, he made his way back over to the heater, and laid down again. He ignored Theo’s snickering as he laced his fingers behind his head, willing his brain to just shut down, and let him sleep.

 

But despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. He laid there, eyes closed, completely still for what seemed like hours. Eventually, he felt the others lay down next to him -Malia on his left, curled up into his side, Theo on his right, his head just barely touching his shoulder, and Jackson above the three of them, laying on his back.

 

_ It’s a wolf thing, Scott; it’s about pack. There’s a reason people call them ‘puppy piles’. Just like wolves, we huddle together for warmth, for safety, for a sense of belonging. _

 

The memory of Derek’s voice sent another pang through Scott, and he only barely resisted the urge to roll over.

 

It’d been almost two years since the older werewolf had been killed. An automatic rifle filled with wolfsbane laced bullets had ripped him apart, filling him with holes so fast it’d taken the Pack a few seconds to comprehend what was happening.

 

Scott had left him there, lying in the middle of the park. He hoped that his death had been quick; that the bullets had finished him off before the wolfsbane or hunters could. But as guilty as he still felt about it, a part of him knew he’d made the right decision. As he’d dragged Peter away, screaming, trusting Theo and Jackson to keep the others moving, he’d shoved that guilt down in a little box, locking it away in a dark corner of his mind.

 

A place that held all of his morals, his empathy… A place where ‘True Alpha’ Scott McCall had been left.

 

A place where the Pack was still whole. Where he’d still had a family.

  
  


Scott wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been asleep; it felt like only seconds, and hours at the same time. Extending his senses around the room, he quickly realized that Malia and Theo were still asleep on either side of him.

 

_ Jackson _ .

 

He cautiously opened one eye, and glanced around the room without moving his head more than absolutely necessary; all of them had become light sleepers, and he didn’t want to wake them. Looking around, he spotted Jackson by the entrance, his arms wrapped around Corey as he gently led the were-chameleon back inside.

 

“I have to… I have to  _ find  _ him. You don’t… you don’t  _ understand _ , I’ve gotta  _ find  _ him. I’ve gotta  _ help  _ him, Jackson. I’ve gotta find him, and  _ save  _ him,” Corey said, his voice desperate as he looked over his shoulder, back towards the entryway. 

 

Jackson gave Corey a gentle smile, nudging him further into the room, towards the packs in the far corner.

 

“I know, Corey. C’mon, let’s get you something to eat, alright? Right over here, okay?That’s it, right here.” Jackson’s voice was soft, very  _ un-Jackson _ like as he maneuvered Corey over to the storage area, offering reassurances whenever Corey started to get agitated again. The Kanima wolf reached into one of the packs, and pulled out a candy bar. He unwrapped it quickly, and broke it in half, giving the larger of the two pieces to Corey.

 

Corey hesitated, his fingers shaking on the bar, before he took a cautious bite. When Jackson gave him another smile, Corey devoured it, ramming the entire thing into his mouth.

 

“Alright. C’mon, let’s get settled, yeah? There you go.” As Corey curled up against Jackson, Jackson wrapped on arm around the Chameleon’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine.”

 

Scott heard Corey sniffling, watched him wipe tears from his eyes.

 

“I tried to save him, Jackson. I tried. I swear, I tried so hard… I couldn’t… I couldn’t save him, but I tried. I… I tried, I swear…”

 

As Corey’s words trailed off into broken muttering, Jackson’s arm tightened, pulling Corey closer.

 

“I know you did, Corey. I know. You did everything you could. Just… try and get some sleep.”

 

Scott drifted back off, the sounds of Jackson’s soothing voice, and Corey’s quiet crying lulling him to sleep.

  
  


Scott was dreaming -of what, he couldn’t remember- when he felt a pair of hands shaking him.

 

Instantly, he was awake, halfway to his feet with his claws out. Theo stood over him, holding one finger to his lips as he nudged Malia with his foot.

 

Moving silently, Scott went over to Mason, shaking his shoulder as he clasped one hand firmly over his mouth.

 

Theo had already woken Malia, and Scott was pretty sure Jackson had never went back to sleep; he and Corey were already on their feet, and throwing the last bits of their food supply into the bags.

 

Then, silent as the grave, they left.

********   
  
  


It’d been almost six years since Monroe had returned with an army. Since Hunters from around the world had descended like a plague, cutting a bloody path through whatever supernatural beings stood in their way. The werewolves had been hit the hardest -being the most numerous, and the most able to fight back -but no group had been left unscathed. Thousands had died, Nemetons around the world burnt to ash, and their secrets rooted out and destroyed.

 

Beacon Hills had been the first to fall. The hardest hit. When Scott and his pack had ran, they’d been the last of the supernatural in the city -the rest were either already dead, or had moved on already.

 

The losses the McCall Pack had suffered had been catastrophic; their numbers slowly whittled down, piece by piece, a slow but steady war of attrition that left the group with less than a third their number. 

 

Argent had been one of the first to die. Taken out by his own family, hunters he’d lived with, and trusted.

 

That trust had earned him a bullet between the eyes when he’d tried to negotiate a truce. Monroe had personally dumped his body at the sheriff’s station.

 

The Sheriff and Melissa had died a few months later, the result of a bomb meant for Scott and his pack. Melissa, at least, had died quickly; Liam’s father had assured him she hadn’t known what hit her, that she’d died instantly in the initial blast.

 

Noah hadn’t been quite as lucky. He’d lived through the explosion, just to linger a few days in the hospital, before internal injuries, blood loss, shock, and infection had killed him. Given the state of things, none of the pack had dared to sneak into the well-armed fortress that was the hospital, but rumor had it the old sheriff had screamed for days before his body finally gave out.

 

Deaton was killed a few weeks later. The official story was a robbery gone wrong… ‘Gone wrong’ was a mild term for being burned alive in his clinic, but nobody was left in the sheriff’s station who cared enough to question it, after Parrish had disappeared.

 

They’d managed to avoid casualties for almost a year, before the hunters had caught up with them in an old warehouse the pack had been hiding in. Stiles had been caught in the crossfire, a bloody battle with enough ammunition fired to end a Middle Eastern war. He’d been at Scott’s side one minute, then laying on the ground, a neat little hole in the center of his forehead the next.

 

Lydia had been next, eight months after losing Stiles. Cornered by hunters, with no way out, she’d screamed loud enough that the Pack, almost fifteen miles away, had been able to hear. But expending that much of her power had cost her her life; it’d eaten her alive from the inside out, leaving her a fragile husk of ash.

 

At least she’d taken almost two dozen hunters with her.

 

Then had been Derek in the park. Two months later, Peter had committed ‘suicide by hunter’, walking up to Monroe’s base, in broad daylight, and attacking. He’d taken out a few of them, before they’d managed to cut him down.

 

Ethan and Corey had been captured nine months after that. They’d searched for a week, unable to find any sign of the pair, until Corey had made his way back to the sewers, a gibbering mess. He’d been dragging Ethan’s broken, mutilated corpse with him.

 

He hadn’t been right since. And for six months, nobody was exactly sure what the hunters had done to them, Corey little more than a sobbing, shaking shell of who he’d been.

 

Then Theo and Malia had been taken. The pair had nearly died, tortured in every way possible, before managing to escape. It’d taken them almost a week to fully recover from the torture, and even then… Malia hadn’t been quite right ever since.

 

They’d been careful after that. And they’d survived without losing anyone for seven months… until Liam and Hayden had been caught while out on a supply run. As near as Scott could tell, Hayden had died first; ever since Scott had turned her, she’d been more susceptible to wolfsbane than most werewolves, and from the looks of it, she’d died of wolfsbane poisoning before the hunters had really had a chance to get started.

 

She’d been the lucky one.

 

Liam had died hard, and bloody. When Scott and Theo had found their bodies, laying on the side of the road, Scott had barely been able to recognize his beta. His face had been pulverized, his body covered in blood and electrical burns, missing fingers, toes, and teeth.

 

They’d buried the two of them together in a little alcove of trees just outside of Sequoia National Park.

 

Since then, they hadn’t stayed in one place for too long. Constantly on the move, trying to find other supernaturals as they gradually made their way south.

 

Because that was the ‘plan’. Keep moving south, over the border into Mexico, then keep going. Scott wasn’t sure how far they’d have to go to escape the war, or find a safe place, but he figured South America was as good a place as any to get lost in.

 

Because the war… the war was over. Scott and his pack had lost; lost the war, lost their homes, lost their families, and lost their way of life.


End file.
